The Garden of Keys

This next poem is entitled The Garden of Keys, written by Rowey Reitz from allpoetry.com. In the lone hush of the meadow stood a tree of iron branches. From each branch hung a key, bright, rusted, golden, and plain, keys to everything imagined. People came with empty hands. Some snatched at the shiniest. Some argued which was best. Some left with none at all. A child walked quietly, chose a crooked little key, and carried it home. It opened nothing anyone else desired, yet it fit her own locked door exactly.